


Apple Pie

by 3DMG Shenanigans (Lightningpelt)



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angry Eren Yeager, Awkward Flirting, F/M, Fluff, because everything needs angry eren yeager in it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-31
Updated: 2016-01-31
Packaged: 2018-05-17 09:06:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5863126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lightningpelt/pseuds/3DMG%20Shenanigans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>New Neighbors!AU<br/>In which, upon glimpsing who just moved in next door, Jean thinks a housewarming gift is in order. Also in which Marco is an ace of a wingman.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Apple Pie

**Author's Note:**

> Okay this turned out cute. I'm sorry but this turned out hella cute. JeanKasa is such a lowkey OTP for me, ohmygosh. /hides face 
> 
> Requested by shmagetti on tumblr. Thank you for the lovely prompt! <3 
> 
> Writing blog: niaowrites

"Oh my god. Marco. Marco. Marco, come over here." 

The freckled boy in question was barely awake, and trudged sleepily to answer his roommate's call. The boy leaning in an altogether unnatural position over their couch reached back, pulled him into a similarly precarious pose, and pressed his face against the glass of their apartment's window beside his own. 

"What the hell, Jean?" 

"Sh-sh-shhh! Don't you _see_?" 

All Marco saw was the new next door neighbors carrying boxes of belongings in from the moving van parked on the street. There was a strangely angry-looking brunette boy, his mouth gaping with inaudible shouting, a frail but sweet little blonde boy listening with a weary, indulgent expression, and— 

"Oh." 

"Ye-ah. Oh _wow_ , Marco. Oh _wow_." 

The third person in the little procession was a girl. That alone would have been enough to get Jean's tongue wagging, Marco knew, but this was even _more_ than that. 

This was a _pretty girl_. 

"Don't get any ideas, Jean. Please." 

"We should go introduce ourselves." 

"Jean." 

"We should bring them a housewarming gift." 

"Jean." 

"She's living with two guys. What do you think that means?" 

"Jean." 

"I'm going to assume they're both gay." 

"Jean." 

"Right. You're right, Marco, we should absolutely go introduce ourselves." 

"I didn't say anything like that, Jean." 

"Jeez, man! I said you're right! No need to be so pushy!" 

"Jean, stop." 

"Man, if you're just gonna keep talking about it, we'll go now!" 

"Jean, no." 

"We'll go now if it'll satisfy you!" 

"You're in your pajamas, Jean." 

"Calm down, dude. We're going, we're going now, okay? J-Jeez, you just don't give up!" 

"Jean." But when he realized his roommate was _actually_ heading for the door, Marco bolted back from the window. "Jean, I'm serious! You're in your pajamas! Jean, stop! Abort! Do _not_ go introduce yourself in your teddy bear pajamas!" 

That finally made Jean freeze, his hand a couple of inches from the doorknob. Faltering slightly, he drew a deep breath and then spun to march back into the apartment. 

"Good call, Marco! Shouldn't go over without a housewarming gift! Good call!" 

"... Ugh."

... ... ... 

"How's my hair, man?"

Marco sighed. "For the thousandth time, Jean, your hair—" 

"What if she doesn't like apple pie?" the brunette cut him off, then laughed louder than was necessary. "Oh, forget I asked that! Who _doesn't_ like my mom's apple pie?!" 

Jean seemed intent on convincing himself that he _hadn't_ nearly burned their kitchen down attempting to bake his mother's apple pie and eventually resorted to buying a store-bought one after a brief panic attack. Marco let him believe what he wanted to. 

"She'll like it, Jean." 

"You think?!" The brunette wheezed slightly, then nodded. "Of course! Of course she will. Thanks, Marco!" 

"Any time, man." 

"And you'll come with me? To distra—" 

"—to distract her friends so you two can have a perfect, uninterrupted love-at-first-sight moment," Marco finished, and Jean gave him a grateful look. 

"You're the best, man." 

"I'd only do it for you, Jean." 

After one more quick hair-check in the hallway mirror, Jean took a deep breath and led the way from the apartment. It was only a couple of feet to the next apartment over, though it did seem much longer to one very nervous Jean Kirstein. He took another moment to steady himself once outside the neighbors' door, and Marco granted him a quiet, "You got this," as he raised his hand to knock. 

The door opened before he could follow the action through, and the two boys found themselves face-to-face with one very angry-looking new neighbor. Even as Marco took an unconscious step backwards, Jean's natural temper rose to the occasion. 

"What's you're problem?" he asked defensively—although perhaps a bit too abrasively to get away with it. The boy's turquoise eyes narrowed. 

"What's _my_ problem? What's _your_ problem, Horse-face?" 

The jab struck deep. "My _problem_ ," Jean replied hotly, "is assholes like _you_ getting in the my way!" 

"In your way of _what_?" the boy asked. "This is _my_ apartment now. _You're_ the one who's out of line." 

"Umm...! What Jean means to say—!" Marco began, sliding between the two young men. "I-Is welcome to the block! W-We live next door! Sorry for his temper, he's just a bit wound—" 

"Don't apologize for me!" Jean protested, but the turquoise-eyed boy calmed down. 

"Oh. That's fine, then." He offered his hand. "My name's Eren—Eren Jaeger. C'mon in." 

Marco smiled gratefully, then followed Eren's motion into the apartment. But when Jean tried to do the same, he found his way blocked. 

"No horse-faces allowed," he sneered, then slammed the door before Jean could object. For a moment the brunette just stared at the closed door, almost expecting it to open again. But the wood remained unmoving and unyielding, and even Marco failed to reappear. 

The last of his anger draining, Jean realized suddenly just how _badly_ he'd screwed up. Not only was he left standing alone on the catwalk, _not only_ had he missed his chance at that perfect love-at-first-sight meeting, he had probably ruined _any_ chance he had with the black-haired beauty he had glimpsed all too briefly. Yet, even in total despair, he couldn't just turn around and walk back to his own apartment. So instead he steeled himself and raised his hand once again to knock. 

Again, in a startling twist, the door opened before he could. And this time it was the blonde, looking around in apparent confusion. 

"Oh! Hi!" he chirped, focusing on Jean. "You must be the horse-face Eren was talking about! Jean, right? I'm Armin, by the way. Nice to meet you!" Then, before Jean could react, the pie had been removed from his grasp. "Marco told us this was for us! Thanks!" 

And then, unceremoniously, the door was shut in Jean's face yet again. 

"What... the hell... was _that_?" was all the brunette could really ask, then stagger back slightly to slump miserably against the sidewalk's small wall. Pie-less and abandoned in the hallway, he couldn't muster the strength to get up and try the door a third time. All he could do was sit and ponder the circumstances of his sorry existence. 

"Don't loose faith, Jean..." he muttered quietly to himself. "Just because... I mean... you aren't a total loser, right? You're... cool. And Marco... at least _Marco_ has to come out eventually, right?" 

But when the door opened a third time, it wasn't Marco framed elegantly by the wood paneling. 

"... Jean, right?" 

Despite the disinterested tone, her voice was like a chorus of angels. Jean's head snapped up, eyes widening as a brilliant, heavenly light enveloped him. He staggered to his feet as she, moving with controlled grace, closed the door with one foot. 

"Haah... Hi..." 

One of her pretty eyebrows arched, and her lips quirked up. "Hi." She held out one of the two plates she was carrying—a piece of apple pie. "Marco told me you're the one who brought this." 

"I-I... I mean, yeah." Jean could feel his face burning, but he cleared his throat and tried for a level tone. "Welcome t-to the neighborhood. I-I mean the complex—building. The building." 

Again the girl smiled, just slightly. She set her own plate down on the railing and leaned slightly against it. "Nice to meet you, Jean. I'm Mikasa." 

"Mi... kasa..." the boy breathed, enraptured. Then, for fear of sounding stupid, he cleared his throat. "N-Nice to meet you." 

"Sorry for my brother," Mikasa continued. "Eren. He can be... difficult." 

" _Brother_...!" Jean exclaimed breathily, then choked slightly when Mikasa looked at him curiously. "I-I...! Er... yeah, it's fine! I-I wasn't... I mean, I was being pretty difficult, too." 

"He's not so bad once you get to know him," Mikasa continued affectionately—an affection Jean found admirable now that he knew he didn't need to be jealous of it. 

"Neither am I, once you get to know me!" he said playfully, then second-guessed whether that sounded smooth or lame. 

Mikasa didn't seem to know either, but she still smiled. "I'm sure." She took a bite of the pie, then offered, "This is good. Thanks for bringing it over." 

"M-My mom's is better!" Jean blurted out, then added, "I-I could make it for you, sometime...!" to avoid the implication that she should meet his mother any time soon. 

And that got not only a smile, but a faint chuckle out of Mikasa. "I'd like that." 

Jean felt hope soar to life in his chest. "H-Hey... you could... come over any time, you know. We live next door to each other, now." 

"Convenient," Mikasa observed dryly, then nodded. "Sure. I'd say the same, but better to wait until you and Eren find some neutral ground." 

"... Right..." Jean acknowledged, a bit deflated. 

Mikasa, glancing over at him from behind her bangs, shrugged. "That's not as hard as you think, I promise," she offered, then looked away. They stood in silence for a moment, eating apple pie on the catwalk, and Jean took the moment to pluck up his courage. 

"So, ehh... Friday?" 

"Hmm?" 

"Friday," the boy repeated lamely, avoiding her gaze. "Do you want to come over Friday?" 

And Mikasa smiled—honestly. "Friday." 

"I-I'll make my mom's pie, okay?" 

"I'll look forward to it, Jean." 

"...!" The sound of his name in her calmly amused voice made his insides twist with visceral pleasure, and his hand flew up inadvertently to cover his mouth. He was glad of the reflex, too, lest anything unforgivably embarrassing slip out. 

He was too grateful for the unthinkable moment to ruin it with something stupid and impulsive. 

Mikasa seemed to understand, and didn't restart the conversation.

... ... ... 

"Yeah! Yeah, Mom, I _really_ need to come home tomorrow! No, I'm not— _no_ , I didn't flunk out of college! I just—No, Marco didn't kick me out! I need you to show me how to bake apple pie! ... Yes, you gave me the recipe. I-It's not—! What do you mean, 'It's just that simple?!' There has to be some trick—no, I-I...! Don't say that, Mom! I can learn!"

Marco, laying on his stomach on the couch, gave a soft sigh and rested his chin on his his arm. So not only did he have to listen to Jean repeatedly regale him with the romantic, fairy-tale-esce scene he had taken part in on the catwalk, he had to listen to his sorry mama's-boy display on the phone. 

"This is what I get..." he muttered fondly, then chuckled. "It'll teach me to send pretty girls out to talk to you..."


End file.
